


We Might Be Hollow, But We're Brave

by ionsquare



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Alternating, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, Torture, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 05:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2139672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ionsquare/pseuds/ionsquare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is running as fast as he can. There’s mud on his shoes, he smells a little musty from still wearing his lacrosse clothes, and his left thumbnail is cracked. He doesn’t get far though, because Gerard’s cronies are coming at him from the left and right, bringing him down to the ground, pressing his face into the wet dirt.</p><p>“Did you really think you could get away that easily, Mr. Stilinski?” Gerard seethes, pressing his booted foot down on his chest. “Get him in the car, boys.”</p><p>His last thought before being knocked out is how worried his dad must be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Might Be Hollow, But We're Brave

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Teen Wolf Throwback Fest! Prompt: Derek finds Stiles, Erica, and Boyd in the Argent basement. (Slightly tweaked, but you'll see when you read.) 
> 
> It was a struggle to write this mostly because I haven't written this much Derek/Stiles since October _last year_. But somehow I knocked this out and I'm quite proud of it, even if it's been awhile since I've fully rewatched seasons 1  & 2\. I really tried to make this my own instead of drawing dialogue directly from episodes.
> 
> I didn't mark this as "Graphic Depictions of Violence" because none of the violence is _graphic_ , but please heed the tag warnings, they're there for a reason. Stiles _is_ tortured and he deals with it. If I didn't tag for something please let me know!
> 
> Title comes from _400 Lux_ by Lorde.

Stiles is running as fast as he can. There’s mud on his shoes, he smells a little musty from still wearing his lacrosse clothes, and his left thumbnail is cracked. He doesn’t get far though, because Gerard’s cronies are coming at him from the left and right, bringing him down to the ground, pressing his face into the wet dirt.

“Did you really think you could get away that easily, Mr. Stilinski?” Gerard seethes, pressing his booted foot down on his chest. “Get him in the car, boys.”

His last thought before being knocked out is how worried his dad must be.

*  
“Stiles is missing.” Derek frowns at Scott’s text, ignoring Peter.

“We don’t have _time_  to worry about this, Derek. Jackson’s still alive; he needs to be taken care of immediately.”

Derek looks at him then back to his phone where there are more messages coming in:

 **Sent: 9:00pm** _stiles is missing me and isaac r going 2 start searching. will u help?_  
 **Sent: 9:30pm**   _jacksons dead happened during the game_  
 **Sent: 9:50pm** _my moms at the morgue something wrong with jacksons body_  
 **Sent: 10:00pm** _could really use ur help w/ stiles_

The last text was sent ten minutes ago, and even though there are a thousand things happening at once, he’s an alpha, and an alpha’s first priority is to look after the pack. He hasn’t been the best alpha lately, if Boyd, Erica, and even Isaac walking away is any indication. It’s hard sometimes, because a small part of him knows, deep down, that he was never meant for this, but he was lonely for a pack, and the power feels good, if only for a little while.

“Did you hear me, Derek? Jackson’s still out--”

“Jackson’s dead,” Derek says, making his decision. “Stiles is missing, and I’m going to help.”

“You don’t even like Stiles!”

“How do you know what I like anymore, Peter? What are you even doing here?”

“You don’t have a heart, Derek. This, this isn’t you, and you know it. Now help me find Jackson and let’s kill him, together, and get your pack back.”

Derek feels his eyes glowing red, vision going bright with it as he stalks toward Peter.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Peter.”

 **To Scott:**   _On my way. I’ll find you by scent._

*  
When Stiles hits the bottom of the stairs he can hear whining and whimpering. He gets to his feet, blindly searching for a light switch, and when he flicks it on he’s sickened at the sight before him.

“Boyd? Erica?” Stiles coughs, wincing and touching his chest. “What the fuck-” he reaches for the bindings on Erica’s wrists, swearing when the electricity licks at his fingers. “Shit! Well, fuck, now what am I supposed to do?”

He takes stock of the basement, and there aren’t a lot of options to get their bindings off, and if experience has taught him anything it’s that electricity slowly hurts werewolves, with the end result being deadly.

“I don’t know what to do,” Stiles croaks.

Boyd shakes his head, and Erica just closes her eyes.

“Is it -- Are you healing at all?” Stiles asks them. They both shake their heads no. “Crap. Fuck. This is not--”

The door opens and Gerard appears at the bottom of the stairs, giving Stiles the sickest looking smile he’s ever seen. Stiles has to swallow back the bile rising up in his throat, squaring his shoulders.

“You and your daughter, well, former daughter, really have an affinity for electricity.”

He keeps a close eye on Gerard as he walks over to a table where three metal boxes sit, and Stiles realizes too late that they’re attached to the bindings on Boyd and Erica’s wrists.

“Don’t--”

Stiles covers his ears, but it doesn’t help, and he knows he’ll never forget the sound of their pained screams.

“A certain level of electrical current can keep a werewolf from transforming, Mr. Stilinski, did you know that? No, probably not.” Gerard keeps going, and Stiles doesn’t want to hear anymore. “Another level and you can’t heal, a few ramps higher minimizes the heightened strength.” Stiles watches him crank the middle box a few more notches, and he just wants them to stop screaming.

“They’ll never give up Derek, loyalty to their alpha. But you, Mr. Stilinski, you don’t care about Derek, so you can tell me where he is and I’ll let you go.”

“I don’t know where he’s at,” Stiles says shakily. “Why would I know where he’s at?”

Gerard walks over, and Stiles doesn’t want to know what he’s hiding behind his back.

“Don’t lie to me,” Gerard warns, showing Stiles the cattle prod he’s holding. “What did I tell you about that level where you can’t heal?”

His sadistic laughter is all Stiles can hear over his own screaming before passing out.

*  
Derek meets up with Scott and Isaac on the lacrosse field. Isaac gives him a nod and Derek counts it as something, at least.

“Did you smell anything on the way here?” Scott asks.

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Where’s his dad?”

“He put out an APB and told us he’d call us if he heard anything,” Scott explains. “So I’m guessing he’s at the station.”

“I sniffed his smelly old shoe and got zilch,” Isaac puts in.

Derek rolls his eyes. “We know Jackson had nothing to do with this, or Chris.”

“Same with Allison,” Scott says quickly. “I know she’s -- She’d never do something like this to Stiles.”

Derek has nothing to say to that considering he’s the reason her mother is dead, but that’s not what this is about, so he shoves down the urge to snark at that and keeps focus.

“The only person who has any reason to hurt someone with no just cause is Gerard.” Derek takes a deep breath. “If it’s in fact Gerard then he took Stiles somewhere, probably the Argent’s place.”

“There’s no way we can get there,” Isaac says. “He’ll have people watching.”

“It’s Stiles, we have to -- It’s Stiles. Derek’s an alpha so we have muscle.”

“Thanks, Scott. I appreciate that,” Derek snaps.

Scott shrugs helplessly and Derek continues to roll his eyes, because teenagers. It’s hard to remember that he’s dealing with teenagers. “Okay we all agree it’s Gerard? Let’s scout around first, you guys track the preserve. Maybe I’m wrong and he took him somewhere more open.”

“What about you?” Scott asks.

“I’ll track around my house, and then I’ll go the Argent’s.”

“By yourself?” Scott frowns. “Shouldn’t we stick together?”

“That’s why you know where I am if you don’t hear from me. If you don’t hear from me in an hour, tops, go to Stiles’ dad, got it?”

Scott seems apprehensive, and the urge to alpha him bubbles up.

“Stiles’ dad will want an explanation. He doesn’t know anything, Derek.”

“Well what else are we going to do if Stiles ends up dead?” Derek waits for either of them to argue further, but they acquiesce, not looking happy about it at all. “One hour,” he reminds them.

 _One hour_ , he tells himself over and over as he takes off running.

*  
If Stiles thought a cattle prod was bad, it’s nothing compared to getting a beat down from an old man, especially when that man is Gerard Argent. The man is beyond sadistic, and he can see where Kate learned everything, which is almost sad because now he wonders how everything would have turned out if Gerard had never existed.

“Are you going to stop mouthing off, Mr. Stilinski?”

Stiles spits up another mouthful of blood, grinning at him.

“Are you going to stop being a sadistic motherfucker?”

He backhands Stiles so hard he bangs his head on the bottom step, passing out again. When he comes to again he slowly blinks his eyes open, taking notice of Gerard’s absence, and his entire body aches in all the worst ways possible. The cattle prod was enough on Stiles’ body, but the punching and kicking only added to that, and he’s glad there isn’t a mirror around. He gets to his feet somehow, swaying where he stands, but he makes his way to Boyd and Erica, who give him scared looks.

“Not dead yet, and neither are you two. We’re not dying down here, got it?”

They look at one another and then nod at him.

Stiles stumbles over to the table with the metal boxes, studying them individually, eyes scanning the wires and trying to figure out which one could possibly allow them to heal. He doesn’t need them transforming because that won’t help anyone.

“They’re all set differently, and I can’t -- I have to do something. I can figure this out.”

He surmises the box on the highest setting has to be the one hindering their strength, or maybe that’s the one stopping them from transforming, that would make the most sense. “But he said ‘a few ramps higher, no heightened strength,’” Stiles says to himself. “But which level would be good at stopping a werewolf’s healing?” He bites his nails, really studying the middle box, and with one last look at Boyd and Erica he starts turning it down. His eyes widen as he watches the wounds on Boyd very slowly seal up, and the cut on Erica’s head disappears.

“I did it,” Stiles whispers. “I did it!” He limps and stumbles his way over to them, and he sees their eyes widen, the fear there, and he takes a deep breath.

“I really wish you hadn’t done that, Mr. Stilinski,” Gerard says behind him.

The cattle prod crackles to life hitting right in the middle of his back, and Stiles drops to his knees screaming, breathing rapidly as he rolls over on his back and staring up in horror at Gerard. The prod comes down on his ribs making Stiles’ body shake violently, and it’s like he can feel every single lick of electricity penetrating his body. Gerard backs off and he tries so hard not to, but Stiles starts to cry, and he hates himself for showing weakness in front of someone like Gerard. Stiles looks over to Boyd and Erica and he feels of a flicker of something, hope maybe, or happiness, at the fact that they’re still healing. They’re still healing.

“I’m nowhere _near_ done with you,” Gerard says menacingly.

“They’re healing,” Stiles wheezes out, the prod coming down on him once again.

*  
Derek had no luck at the house, and somehow he knew he wouldn’t, but he told Scott and Isaac that mostly to keep them from fucking up and showing their asses in front of Gerard Argent. By the time he gets to the Argent’s house he immediately smells Stiles; he smells anger and fear and nothing else, but Stiles is here. He keeps a careful eye on the house. Normally he’d be in there already, but he can’t fuck this up, not when it’s the sheriff’s son. He notices a light on in what he assumes is the basement, also taking note that the only other lights on are in the living room and Allison’s room after he saw her walk through the curtain.

He decides to cut across from the neighbors house since they don’t seem to be home, then he carefully and quietly jumps onto the roof, lifting the window open and slipping in. There’s a gun pointed at his head as soon as he takes a step towards the closed bedroom door.

“You don’t think I knew you were outside, Derek?” Chris asks, voice a hard edge.

“At least I know you aren’t completely ignorant. You going to shoot me?”

“Don’t give me a reason to.” Chris lowers the gun, clicking a lamp on. “What are you doing here?”

“Your father might have taken Stiles,” Derek says, figuring it’s in his best interest to be upfront.

Chris gives Derek a critical look and doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. Derek watches him put the gun away, sitting on the edge of the bed. “The lights flickered ten minutes before you arrived,” he tells Derek.

Derek’s brow furrows. “I don’t know what--” But then it dawns on him: the only reason the lights would be flickering is an electrical problem, or a sick, sadistic asshole is using it on werewolves. “Where are they, and don’t lie to me because I’ll know if you are.”

Chris stands up, blocking Derek’s way out. “We have a common enemy right now, but that doesn’t mean I trust you, Derek.”

“Oh, you think I trust you?” Derek laughs. “We might have a common enemy, Chris, but I’m not here for you. I’m here for Stiles, and now, for the werewolves your father may or may not have down there as well.”

“He’s… he’s twisting our code. He’s turning Allison into someone I never wanted her to be.”

“I’m not -- She has nothing to do with why I’m here,” Derek says. “But whoever Gerard has down there? They’re coming out with me, got it?”

Chris pulls out a set of keys, handing Derek a small gold key.

“In case the basement door is locked. Leave it on the steps outside when you’re done,” Chris explains. He turns and opens the door, checks the hallway before waving Derek on. “Go left at the bottom of the stairs, down the hallway, and it’s the door on the right.” Chris gives him one last calculating look. “I’m not helping you.”

“Never imagined you would,” Derek says over his shoulder. He flies down the stairs, going left like Chris told him, and then down the hallway, which is covered in family pictures. He catches a glance of one with Kate and Allison, but he doesn’t let it get to him. When he’s got the door open Derek knows, his senses immediately on alert, honing in on one thing and one thing only--

Pack.

Boyd and Erica look so relieved to see Derek, and Derek wants to strangle Gerard until he can feel his neck snap. He takes a deep breath walking over to them, fingers hovering over the wires, waiting to feel the thrum of electricity but there’s nothing there. He holds a hand against Erica’s face as he slowly removes the duct tape, not missing the way she just rests her face in his palm taking deep, labored breaths.

“Are you injured?” Derek asks her. She shakes her head no and he breathes a sigh of relief.

“Nothing that won’t heal when you cut the box off,” Erica rasps.

Derek squeezes her cheek and then does the same for Boyd, carefully taking the duct tape off, asking him the same question and getting mostly the same answer. “I’ll heal. Allison shot me full of arrows--”

“She what?” Derek asks, looking at both of them. “Chris and Allison were involved in this?”

“Not this,” Erica emphasizes with a look around the basement. “Not this gross torture.”

Derek takes a long look at the bindings on their wrists. “There’s no electricity, so it shouldn’t be too much trouble to get them off. I’m going to turn the boxes off, okay?” They nod at Derek, and he walks over to the table, slowly turning the knobs until they’re at zero. He looks at Erica and Boyd, making sure they aren’t going to transform; that’s really not something he wants to deal with right now. It takes a bit of tugging but Derek’s able to get the bindings off their wrists. He didn’t want to risk cutting the wires in case they were still live.

“Stiles -- He figured out the box. To help us heal, to turn the electricity off,” Erica says, rubbing her wrists.

“And then Gerard beat the shit out of him for it.” Boyd squeezes Erica’s shoulder and she squeezes his hand. “Gerard locked him in there.” Boyd points to a small door that looks like a closet.

Derek swallows. “I know you both--”

Erica hugs him, her body warm and alive against his, and Derek doesn’t immediately hug back at first, but his arms slowly come around her, scenting her for a moment.

“Stiles needs your help now. We’ll keep an eye on the door,” she says, walking back over to Boyd.

“Chris is-” Derek waves a hand. “I’ll explain after we’re out of here.” He walks over to the closet, testing the handle and sure enough it’s locked, but he breaks it easily. Derek expected to find Stiles waiting in there, ready to throw a quick jab at him for running late, but not this; not Stiles beaten and battered, lying in a crumpled heap. He’s thankfully still alive, but Derek can only smell blood, salt, and burnt flesh. Derek steps inside slowly, kneeling down and gently rolling Stiles over on his back. The movement makes Stiles whimper, arching off the floor.

“Stiles,” Derek whispers. “Stiles, hey, it’s Derek. I’m going to lift you up okay?”

“Don’t,” Stiles croaks. “He’ll… he’ll come after you, all of you. Please, just, leave me here. He’ll let me go, he’ll--”

Derek grabs Stiles’ wrist and starts leeching his pain. There’s a lot of it, and Derek can feel it all the way to his bones. He has no idea what Gerard did to this kid, but he clearly did a number on him. He lets go of Stiles’ wrist. If he leeches too much Stiles will get woozy and pass out, and he needs Stiles alert.

“Stiles, you have to get up.” Derek squeezes his shoulder. “I’m going to help you.”

Stiles nods slowly, wincing and whimpering the whole time Derek gets him to his feet, swaying where he stands. Derek’s not sure what makes him do it, but he holds Stiles’ face in his hands, steadying him, and Stiles visibly stills, going completely rigid. Derek’s arms go around him on instinct so he doesn’t fall, holding him to his chest.

“My dad’s going to be so mad at me,” Stiles chokes out.

“He’s your dad, Stiles, stop being ridiculous.” Derek pats his back. “Put your arm around me and I’ll put my arm across your shoulders.” Stiles does so, and Derek doesn’t miss the way Stiles presses in close to Derek’s side; he must be cold, Derek guesses.

“Are they okay?” Stiles asks.

Derek walks slowly with Stiles out of the closet. “With your help they are.”

“I didn’t want to toot my own horn, thanks for doing it for me,” Stiles says, trying to crack a smile even though to Derek it’s more of a wince.

“I won’t forget what you did for them, Stiles.”

Stiles remains quiet, but Derek listens close to his heartbeat, a steady thump-thump with a slight uptick, like Derek praising him is embarrassing, or flattering.

“He’s still here, by the way.” Stiles looks at Derek. “Gerard.”

As if on cue, Derek picks up the sound of Gerard talking with Chris, and Derek holds a finger up to his lips, signaling to all of them to remain as still as possible. Derek just wants to get the fuck out of here.

“I need to show you something,” Chris says, “in the garage.”

“Make it quick,” Gerard snaps.

Derek listens closely to their footsteps dying away. He knows Chris said the garage so Derek wouldn’t escape that way, and even though he doesn’t want to be, Derek is grateful.

“I guess we’re going out the front door?” Erica jokes.

Derek snorts, arm tightening around Stiles, looking at him when he says, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He doesn’t text Scott until they’re at least halfway to Stiles’ house: _He is alive._

*  
Stiles isn’t sure how they make it out of the fucking neighborhood when getting out of the Argent's house was the hardest part, but they do. All of them. It isn’t until they’re miles from the house that Stiles finally breathes a sigh of relief. He squints and sees a familiar car, glancing at Derek.

“Good plan leaving your car here,” Stiles wheezes, tightening his arm around Derek’s shoulders.

“Sometimes I like to think I have good ideas,” Derek says.

Stiles and Derek share a look and, that’s different. Stiles is used to the sarcasm and overall I Don’t Give a Fuck About You attitude Derek projects towards him, but this is different. He casts a quick glance at Erica walking behind them, Boyd scouting the area, and she just casually quirks an eyebrow at him.

Whatever. Derek’s just being an alpha, doing his duty or some shit. He only came to save him because Erica and Boyd were taken as well. That’s it, he tells himself over and over, and the entire ride to Stiles’ house.

When Derek pulls into the driveway Stiles doesn’t immediately get out. He just -- He doesn’t want to see the look on his dad’s face, and knowing that he put it there. He’s trying to breathe, but it feels like he’s heaving, gasping for breath. There’s a warm hand gripping his bicep and he looks over at Derek.

“I’ll help you, come on,” Derek says, telling Erica and Boyd to sit tight. “Come on, Stiles.”

“I can’t, Derek.”

“You can,” Derek says, pushing a little with his voice. Stiles takes a deep breath and climbs out of the car, very slowly, wincing as he moves his stiff muscles. Derek is beside him quick so that Stiles can lean on him as they walk to the door. Stiles stares at the door until Derek’s squeezing his shoulder, holding a finger to his mouth before taking his phone out of his pocket. He taps for a few seconds showing Stiles the screen: _Your dad might hear. He isn’t mad at you, you know that right? Do you need me to take some of the pain?_

Stiles takes the phone from him, tapping out a simple response of, _It will make me woozy so, no. Gotta be as clear headed as possible. Um, thanks. For everything._

Derek only nods at him, still looking apprehensive. Stiles gives him a look, making a shooing motion with his hands.

“Asshole,” Derek mouths at him.

“You too,” Stiles mouths back. Derek’s back in his car and driving off by the time Stiles opens the door. When he steps into the house it’s eerily quiet even with the lights on. He can hear his dad moving around upstairs, so that’s where he goes.

Stiles has seen his dad angry and pissed off plenty of times, but there's no word to describe the look on his dad's face when Stiles comes stumbling and limping into the room.

“Who was it?” he asks, holding Stiles’ face in his hands, assessing his injuries. “You tell me right now or--”

“Dad, I’m fine,” Stiles says, voice cracking. “Just some guys from the other team. I was mouthing off, you know how I can be.”

“I want names and I’m going to that school tomorrow. I’m going to tell them their students can’t get away with this, I’m going to raise hell--”

“Dad!” Stiles is on the verge of tears now. “I said it was okay.”

“You scared me,” the sheriff says, and his voice breaks, pulling Stiles in for a hug.

Stiles has to fight the urge to whimper, to scream. His body is wrecked right now and he wants to take the longest shower of his life. His dad gives him another once over and finally relents, letting Stiles go to his room.

“Stiles?”

“Yeah, Dad?”

“Never forget how much I love you, and that I’m here for you.”

Stiles chokes back a sob before nodding and shutting his door. He stands in the middle of room and he wants to scream, wishing that will make him forget everything, but it’s never that easy. There’s a buzzing, and Stiles realizes it’s his phone; he fumbles through his gym bag that his dad must’ve brought home to find it, then he’s scrolling through dozens of texts. The newest one, oddly enough, is from Lydia: _Need your help._  He sees that it was sent just five minutes ago; Stiles guesses Lydia still has no real idea what’s going on.

He takes a quick shower, wishes it could’ve been longer if only to stay still long enough to do nothing. Stiles just wants to sleep for a couple days and shut the world out for awhile, but duty calls. The pile of crap that’s been happening the last few weeks, months even, none of it is his responsibility, but he’s involved. He’s in this shit and he can’t abandon his friends. He refuses to look at the myriad of bruises covering his body, because if he dwells right now he won’t come back from it. He’ll let the all consuming, crushing weight of his fucked up life crash down on him, and he - he can’t do that.

Lydia knocks on his door fifteen minutes later, eyes rimmed red, brow furrowing at him.

“What happened to you?” she asks, stepping into his room.

“It’s… it’s nothing. What do you need my help with?” Lydia shows him a key, and Stiles is really confused. “What’s it unlock?”

“Jackson’s house,” she says softly. “He kept asking for it back. I just need to give it back to him, but they won’t let me see him.”

“I have no idea what’s going on with Jackson, Lydia.” Stiles snorts a little under his breath because, well, he _does_  know, but if anything’s been happening he’s in the dark about it.

Lydia takes a seat on his bed, and Stiles carefully sits beside her. They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes before his phone buzzes, and Stiles knows it’s Scott, but something twists inside him. He’s not ready to talk to Scott, not yet anyway; he’s doing a lot of processing.

“Seventeen missed messages,” Lydia tells him, setting Stiles’ phone between them. Stiles is about to say something to that when his phone buzzes again. Lydia picks it up, eyes going wide and showing the screen to him: _Jackson is alive._

Lydia stands up looking at him definately. “If you won’t help me, then I’ll do it myself.”

Stiles kind of wishes he had taken Derek up on the pain taking mojo, but he’s standing up just as Lydia gets to the door, looking back at him with an eyebrow raised.

“Whatever. I’m driving,” Stiles says, grabbing his keys ignoring Lydia’s smirk.

*  
Derek is surprised by a number things, the main one obviously being that Jackson is now a werewolf. Apparently Peter’s whole speech about the power of human love actually worked in the end, but killing the kanima’s master was the biggest factor. He takes stock of everyone around him: Allison standing with her dad, heads bent as they talk about Gerard, lying dead at their feet; Lydia talking to Jackson, who mostly looks really confused; Scott huddled with Isaac, Erica, and Boyd, who shouldn’t be here since they aren’t at one hundred percent, but Derek couldn’t stop them. Peter suspiciously disappeared after Jackson transformed, and Derek’s trying to keep his anger to a minimum. He looks around and doesn’t see Stiles, which is odd. Derek walks outside to find Stiles sitting in his Jeep.

“What are you doing out here?” Derek asks, leaning his arms on the window frame.

“What are _you_  doing out here? Your pack is inside,” Stiles snarks.

“Your _f_ _riends_  are inside,” Derek snaps back. Stiles gives him an incredulous look, shaking his head and huffing in exasperation. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I wasn’t about to let Lydia come out here by herself. I’m not that heartless.”

Derek scowls at him. “I didn’t say you were.” He can’t help it when he takes a curious sniff at Stiles’ scent, and he’s obviously still in a lot of pain that he’s clearly trying to keep hidden. “Let me take some of your pain, Stiles.”

“What’s going to happen to Jackson?” Stiles deflects.

“I’m curious about that myself,” Chris interjects, appearing suddenly, Scott with him.

“I may have eavesdropped on Lydia and Jackson’s conversation,” Scott says sheepishly. “Apparently Jackson’s dad got a job offer with some big time law firm in London. But now that Jackson’s a werewolf, he’s not - He doesn’t know where the hell to go from here.”

Derek’s surprised by that considering Jackson was so hard pressed for the bite. “Technically he’s my first beta--”

“Wait, I thought Isaac was your first?” Stiles cuts in. “Jackson took the form of the kanima first, not a werewolf, doesn’t that make Isaac the default?”

“Not necessarily,” Chris says. “The kanima form manifested, but the werewolf was always dormant underneath.”

Derek nods, shocked by Chris’ knowledge. “The kanima needed a master, and when Gerard was killed that destroyed the kanima. Jackson’s true form could finally surface, you could say.”

“He has blue eyes, like you,” Stiles states. “Why blue?”

Derek goes quiet, because that’s something he isn’t ready to talk about at all. _A werewolf’s eye color isn’t who they are_ , Derek can hear his mother saying in his head. He grips the window frame a little too hard, letting go when he feels the metal beginning to dent. Surprisingly it’s Chris who steers the conversation back to the topic at hand.

“I know someone in the London area who can help Jackson,” Chris says to Derek. “She’s a former emissary for the McKinnon pack out of Dublin. She can help. Let me know, and I’ll call her.”

Derek doesn’t understand at all why Chris Argent is suddenly being helpful when for the past months, years even, he’s kept Derek running. All the hunters just like him.

“Why are you helping?” Derek asks. “What do you get out of this?”

“I get my daughter back,” Chris says somberly.

Everyone gets suspiciously quiet at that, and Derek looks between Scott and Stiles as if they somehow have the answer Derek needs. Derek has a pack, and Jackson, even now, doesn’t feel a part of it. Derek was on a power hungry trip when he bit Jackson, thinking that Jackson as a werewolf might have something useful to offer. A series of chaotic events followed after Derek bit Jackson, and it got Derek and everyone else right here where they are now.

“Your father tried to make himself an alpha tonight,” Derek says to Chris, watching his expression harden. “People think the bite is a cure all, but sometimes… sometimes the bite doesn’t take.” Derek looks at Scott. “I understand why you didn’t fill me in on what you were doing, and you’re right, I’m not your alpha, but if I’m involved in the plan? Fill me in next time.”

“Right back at you,” Scott says defiantly.

“Fair enough.” Derek continues. “Killing a family member should never be an option, and as much as I _really_  hated your father, I am sorry you had to do that.” Chris looks shocked that Derek would even say that, and maybe Derek feels his mother coming through in his words, so he keeps going before the urge leaves him. “I don’t think Jackson will ever want to be a part of my pack, so it may be for the best if you help him out, Chris.”

Derek’s been trying to ignore it, but he’s felt Stiles’ gaze boring into his back the entire time he’s been talking, and he smells scents associated with surprise, trepidation, and curiosity. He’s trying his hardest to avoid one scent in particular, because Derek really can’t lose focus at the moment. But this is Stiles, and he’s signaling his feelings like a goddamn radio frequency. Chris holds out his hand to Derek and he reluctantly shakes it.

“Don’t make me regret this,” Derek warns. Chris doesn’t say anything to that, but excuses himself, saying he needs to call Deaton to take care of Gerard, and take Allison home. Derek’s mildly relieved, noting that he doesn’t feel on edge anymore with him around.

Derek turns to Stiles who looks startled to be acknowledged, but Scott speaks up before Derek can.

“Is it cool if I spend the night tonight?” Scott asks Stiles. Derek watches the look of apprehension on Stiles’ face melt into one of hopefulness, nodding in agreement at Scott.

“Are you -- Do you need…” Stiles stutters, clearing his throat and looking at Derek. “Do you need our help with anything?”

Derek shakes his head. “Just go home and get some rest. Both of you.”

“Okay, _Dad_ ,” Stiles snorts.

“Alpha,” Derek corrects. “It’s… instinct, to protect.”

“Right, well, I think Mr. Argent has a handle on the situation.” Stiles nods toward Chris, who leads Allison, Lydia, and Jackson to his SUV while he speaks with Deaton on the phone. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac tentatively make their way over to them, and Derek quickly surveys their injuries, noting that all three of them are healing, albeit slowly. They’re all alive, and that’s what matters.

“I need to find Peter,” Derek says. He looks at his betas, frowning a little. “My house isn’t safe--”

“Take them to Deaton,” Scott offers. “If anywhere’s safe right now, it’s with him.”

Derek nods along, still looking at them. “I should’ve--”

“Not right now, okay?” Erica says, gripping Derek’s forearm. “There’s a lot we all need to hash out, but not right now. We just… need to breathe for a little while.”

“Keep in touch while you’re gone,” Isaac interjects, arms crossed over his chest protectively. “We should… we should do that. Check in.” Erica and Boyd nod in agreement, looking at Derek.

Stiles clears his throat and that startles Derek, stepping away from the Jeep to give himself some space from, what? Stiles? Derek looks surreptitiously towards Stiles and then back to Erica, Isaac, and Boyd.

“I’ll call Deaton when I can, okay?” Derek grips each of their necks, and he can feel and sense how grateful they are for reassurance like this from their alpha.

Maybe this is Derek’s first step to trying to be better with them.

*

  
 **One Week Later**

“I never thought I’d say this but, I miss Jackson,” Stiles says, sipping his milkshake.

Scott snorts at that, rolling his eyes. “No you don’t.”

“Yeah I really don’t but, you know, whatever. At least he’s--” Stiles can feel his face pinching like he’s sucking on a Warhead. “Getting help.”

“That took a lot out of you didn’t it?”

“It really did, Scott, you have no idea.” Stiles laughs, and it feels good to do that, especially over something so inconsequential as this.

It’s been a fairly quiet week since Gerard was killed, something Stiles is still processing; he’s been doing a lot of that recently. Him and Scott have been catching up on video games the past week, along with binging on junk food. It’s spring break; they’re allowed to be lazy and not think about being killed by a kanima with paralytic venom, or murderous hunters.

“Have you talked to Allison at all?” Stiles asks tentatively.

Scott inhales and exhales slowly, nodding at the question. He doesn’t immediately answer though, and Stiles is ready to change the subject when Scott finally answers.

“We broke up -- Okay she broke up with _me_. But I get it, you know? She said that she couldn’t ask me to wait, but, you know...”

Stiles nods, stirring the soupy remains of his milkshake.

“Have you heard from Derek?” Scott asks.

Stiles is thrown by that, because what? “Uh, why would I know about Derek?”

“Oh, I just thought, since you know--”

“You know… what?”

“Since he saved all of you? I thought he’d, I don’t know, check in on you. Why are you looking at me like that?” Scott has this painfully adorable, incredulous look on his face, and Stiles wants to slap him.

Stiles doesn’t really know how to respond to that, because Stiles thought… he doesn’t really know what he thought, honestly. He’s still trying to repress anything associated with that night and what Gerard did to him, even though Scott’s repeatedly told him that if he needs to unload he’s ready to listen. Stiles appreciates that, he does, and he loves Scott, but this… he can’t put this on Scott. He can’t do that.

He’s also keeping it from Scott and his dad how much pain he’s still in, physically. Realistically, Stiles knew he wouldn’t be at one-hundred percent after a week. It still hurts to walk up and down stairs, getting dressed is a slow process, and the burn marks from the cattle prod are now a dark reddish-brown. Most of Stiles’ skin looks jaundiced instead of the normal pale and covered in moles.

“Stiles? Did you hear me?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, sorry. What?” Stiles loudly slurps the last of his milkshake.

“Deaton texted me, he needs me to watch the clinic while he goes out on a call.” Scott frowns deeply. “Tomorrow’s the last day of spring break, but I know we said--”

“It’s okay, man. Go save some puppies.” Stiles claps him on the shoulder. “I think dad mentioned maybe trying to have an actual dinner together tonight.” His ability to lie too well still astonishes even himself. “Call me later.”

When Stiles gets home he’s startled to see Derek sitting on his front porch.

“Your hair is looking longer,” Derek comments.

Stiles runs a hand instinctively over his head. He stopped buzzing his hair twice a day before Gerard happened, but now, after everything, Stiles needs a change. He needs to separate himself from… that.

“Is that what you came here to tell me?” Stiles asks, walking up the steps to unlock the door. “You can come in if you want.”

Derek follows close behind him, and when Stiles notices, Derek backs off a little, looking honest-to-God sheepish.

“I couldn’t get ahold of Scott,” Derek says. “And Chris mentioned being out of town with Allison for awhile.”

“Scott’s at work. He keeps his phone on silent,” Stiles explains, twirling his keys around. “And I had no idea Chris and Allison were out of town.”

“He called to mention Jackson got settled, and said they’d be AWOL for awhile.” Derek shrugs. “I actually wanted to fill you guys in on the Peter situation.”

Stiles nods, trying to remain nonchalant. He doesn’t know how to react or even be around Derek, because this Derek is being forthcoming, when not that long ago he was stabbing a basketball with his claws.

“Follow me,” Stiles says, heading upstairs. If they’re going to do this, Stiles wants to be somewhere he feels comfortable, and his room has plenty of distractions. “You can… sit on my bed.” Stiles pulls off his hoodie, pulling down his shirt quickly before Derek can see--

“You aren’t fully healed.” Derek frowns, walking up to Stiles, which makes him back up.

“I’m… I’m fine, Derek, it doesn’t matter. I’m fine.”

Derek’s brow furrows. “You really don’t like asking for help, do you?”

“What are you--”

“Just let me help you, with the pain,” Derek clarifies, holding out a hand to Stiles.

“No, just-” Stiles takes a deep breath. “I don’t need it.”

Derek rolls his eyes and that really _pisses_  Stiles off for some reason.

“Right, so, let’s just fix the puny human whenever he gets the shit kicked out of him, yeah? Because that will fix _everything_. That will make the puny human forget the memory of being fucking _tortured_.” Stiles is seething at this point, and Derek visibly flinches, which, why does Derek care? “Why do you care anyway?”

“You aren’t -- Stiles, you aren’t a puny human, are you serious?” Derek grips Stiles’ forearm and it makes Stiles hold still, staring straight at him. “No one can take that pain from you. Time heals all wounds, right? Fuck that. You never really heal, because you never _forget_. But this pain?” Derek’s hand squeezes Stiles’ forearm gently, black lines skittering up his own arm. “I can -- We can make it easier for you to breathe, to begin to heal better.”

Stiles tugs his arm out of Derek’s grip, rubbing the tender skin. “Why do you care, Derek?” Stiles asks again. There’s something very obviously changing between the two of them, and Stiles has been trying to figure it out, gathering all the evidence, putting all the pieces together.

Derek opens his mouth to say something but merely shakes his head, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

“What happened to your leather jacket?” Stiles inquires, squinting at Derek. “This one looks kind of big on you.”

Derek looks at the grey corduroy jacket. “This is Boyd’s, and I just grabbed it on my way here. What, am I only supposed to wear my leather jacket?”

“Yes, yes you are.” Stiles laughs at himself, making Derek chuckle. And Stiles can’t recall ever hearing Derek laugh.

“I don’t -- You shouldn’t have to be in pain anymore,” Derek says. “I don’t know why I care, but I do.”

“Scott keeps offering and… I have no reason for not accepting. I know that. It’s just… I’m processing. I’m trying to deal with it, and when I look at the bruises and burn marks, weird as it sounds, it helps me. To deal.” Stiles looks at Derek, who’s watching and listening carefully.

“You don’t have to be in pain, Stiles.” Derek looks him over, and Stiles crosses his arms.

“What’s the news on Peter?” Stiles deflects. He’s good at that, and the way Derek keeps looking at him is making Stiles’ skin itch.

“Disappeared,” Derek exhales. “He’s… vague, I guess, on what he does and where he goes.”

“Meaning he’s planning all our demises in the most painful and horrifying ways possible.” Stiles rolls his eyes with a snort. “So he’s going to show up again?”

“Possibly, I don’t know. It’s hard to get a read on Peter anymore.”

Stiles contemplates that loaded statement, because Stiles can easily read between the lines: there’s still so much all of them don’t know about Peter.

“One thing is for sure about him, though,” Stiles says, smirking at Derek’s raised eyebrows. “Creepy megalomaniacal murderer.”

“Hah. Megalomaniacal. If that’s the word of the day, bravo, you successfully used it in a sentence.” Derek shakes his head with a laugh, and Stiles is so thrown by Derek making a joke. A joke at Peter’s expense, but hey, the creepy murderer deserves it.

They get quiet after that, and Stiles picks up on how the both of them look away when they happen to lock eyes. He shouldn’t feel like this in his own _bedroom_ , but Derek’s presence is nice, actually. Derek must sense Stiles’ unease because he starts moving towards the door.

“You probably have things to do--”

“I don’t,” Stiles cuts him off. “And my dad’s at work, so…” He scratches the back of his neck. “Are you hungry?” Derek opens his mouth, closes it, and Stiles is expecting a retort of some sort when--

“I could eat.” Derek shrugs a shoulder.

Stiles feels a little lighter knowing that Derek didn’t immediately turn him down, motioning for Derek to follow him back downstairs. He kicks off his shoes before leaving his room, and now he wants to put comfier clothes on, but that might be weird with Derek here.

“Calm down and stop thinking so loud.”

“Shut up,” Stiles mutters at Derek. When they get to the kitchen Stiles whirls around. “I never said thank you for, uh, you know…”

Derek cocks his head, eyebrows shooting up.

“You know what I mean.” Stiles scratches his cheek wondering why he’s making this so awkward. “For saving my life.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” Derek says.

“Can you just say you’re welcome?”

Derek huffs. “You’re welcome.” Stiles watches him pull his jacket off, throwing it on the couch, like it’s something he does all the time; as if he belongs here.

Stiles has so much more to process.

*  
Derek gave him space for a week, and then he got tired of wondering if Stiles was healing or not.

Erica and Boyd were fully healed in two days time, and Derek spent the majority of the week reconnecting with them and Isaac. There’s still so much between all of them that needs to be addressed, needs to be discussed, but this is the first step and they’re all trying. If he wasn’t with them, then Derek was trying to locate Peter. He had left a note saying: _See you soon, nephew._  Isaac declared his full on hatred of Peter after that, and family or not, Derek couldn’t really disagree.

So, Derek gave Stiles space. It feels like they’re talking by not talking, and it isn’t Derek’s favorite thing in the world, but he knows one thing Stiles likes to do is talk. He sat on Stiles’ front porch for half an hour before Stiles finally came home, and almost instantly he could smell the low grade levels of pain still radiating from Stiles.

“You don’t _have_  to be in pain, Stiles,” Derek tells him, giving him an assessing once over.

And then Stiles promptly deflected by asking about Peter, which, was the point of Derek coming over there. But he also came to check on Stiles. He keeps seeing Stiles’ limp body in his mind when he opened that closet, not knowing at the time the extent of his injuries.

After devouring some grilled cheese sandwiches, they’re now sitting on the couch while Stiles channel surfs. There’s not much space between them, but Derek is steadfastly ignoring that nugget of information. Derek makes a pleased noise when Stiles bypasses The History Channel.

“What, what is it?” Stiles flips back. “You want to watch a documentary called _The Invisible War: Electromagnetic Warfare_?”

“I like history,” Derek says nonchalantly, trying to avoid looking at Stiles.

“You like history,” Stiles repeats, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Shut up,” Derek retorts.

“Electromagnetic warfare it is,” Stiles declares, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

Derek’s not sure how it happens, but Stiles winds up falling asleep with his head on Derek’s shoulder, and his body pressed warmly into his side. He stays as still as he can, not wanting to wake him up, but also wanting to because surely Stiles didn’t mean to fall asleep on him. Stiles makes a noise, mouth parting as he yawns, and Derek watches, entranced. Stiles then proceeds to rub his face into Derek’s arm and press in closer, which makes Derek move his arm for some stupid reason, making Stiles curl up, head resting on his chest now.

He’s got both arms held up, not exactly sure what to do in this situation. They don’t _do_  this, but now they do? Derek’s not sure right now, and he’s missing parts of the documentary, which isn’t important but he finds it fascinating.

“You can put your arms down,” Stiles murmurs.

“Are we talking about this, whatever, now?” Derek asks, arms still raised.

“Eventually, but right now?” Stiles looks up at him. “Watch your documentary and let me nap.”

Derek lowers his right arm while his left one curls around Stiles, squeezing his shoulder.

“Thank you for saving me,” Stiles mumbles, and Derek almost doesn’t hear him. “You were there for Erica and Boyd, but you saved me too.”

 _It’s now or never_ , Derek tells himself. “Actually, Erica and Boyd had decided to leave to find another pack when they were taken. I was there for you. Me, Scott, and Isaac were looking for you.”

For a moment Derek thinks Stiles fell back asleep when he hears him say, “we have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“I -- Yeah. Yeah we do.” Derek slides a hand up and down Stiles’ back, feeling him tense up. “Your back still hurting?”

“Not too much, but enough to still ache,” Stiles says. He shifts against Derek so that his head is resting on his shoulder, but Derek can feel his nose brushing along his neck. “If it will help you can--”

Derek hesitates. “It has to be skin on skin contact, so…”

“S’fine,” Stiles murmurs sleepily. “Hey, my dad usually calls around midnight if he’s working this shift, so if he does will you wake me up?”

“I can do that,” Derek agrees. He doesn’t want to make Stiles too uncomfortable, so he merely has his hand resting on the small of Stiles’ back, slowly taking his pain. Stiles sighs deeply and Derek can feel him relaxing right into sleep, and he wonders how many sleepless nights Stiles has had since Gerard took him.

“Talking is going to happen,” Stiles slurs sleepily. “Me and you. With the talking.”

“Okay, Stiles.” Derek shakes his head, smiling to himself. He knows they have a lot to talk about, and that’s always a good place to start.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic wouldn't be at all possible without the constant support of Kara and Laura. You guys were my rocks through this, and I'm thankful you were with me all the way. And even more thanks to Laura for her fantastic beta work and notes. <3<3<3 And thanks to everyone on Twitter for putting up with me over the last 3 months with this fic. Sapph and Meg, thanks for putting this fest together! 
> 
> I have more thoughts running in my head about the end, because if I had written anymore I would've gone into those months before the start of season 3A. (So many thoughts!) Also, in case you're wondering, that documentary is real and aired some years ago on The History Channel; thanks, Google.
> 
> Mini Mixtape aka the songs that inspired me: 400 Lux and Bravado by Lorde, Run Boy Run by Woodkid, and Let Me Go by Haim.
> 
> Me on [tumblr](http://ionsquare.tumblr.com/); let's discuss fuzzy butts and teen wolves.


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